The Building of a Dynasty
by Ivan Alias
Summary: A story based not primarily on the books, but the '92 RTS game. CHOAM, Bene Gesserit and the desert planet, Arrakis... all ingredients to plots within plots within plots, but where do the three Great Houses fit in?


Disclaimer: I own nothing – writing this as I am bored. Not quite sure how it'll end, but I'll play it by ear. Based on, as the more astute of you may have noticed, on the 1992 game.

**Dune**

**The Building of a Dynasty**

The man sat down on the bejewelled throne, and from that instant had transformed himself from Frederick Augustus Corrino, usurper to the throne of the Human Empire and betrayer of the Corrino line to Emperor Frederick the Fourth, reinstated in his rightful place as the unchallengeable ruler of all humans.

He smiled and acknowledged the cheers from the courtiers, raising his hand occasionally. One man handed him a goblet of wine, then disappeared, another shapeless face in the maelstrom that was the Imperial Court. He sipped at the cloudy liquor distractedly as the celebration continued around him. People came and went, congratulating his guile and military cunning in removing his traitorous brother, Alasdair, from the throne. He nodded, not listening. Despite the gaiety around him, his mind was focused on his encounter an hour ago.

* * *

The meeting room was a small, but rather lavish place, most of the room taken up by a rectangular table in the centre, surrounded by furniture of an older design. The Corrinos were notorious for liking old arts – often disdaining the more contemporary works for ancient human artists, like Dali, Bailey and Pollock. At the end of the table three figures sat, surrounded by files and papers, two men and a woman. One of the men cleaned his glasses on a crumpled handkerchief while the other two looked at the ceiling and floor. The portal to the room opened quietly, and a new figure entered the room.

Frederick Augustus Corrino sat down at the head of the table, and smiled a most smug and self-satisfied smile. His gambit had worked. His spies and old links to the Sardaukar legions allowed him to make a sweeping victory against his brother's forces. It had taken the entire period of the Years of Treason, planning, plotting, gathering resources, fleeing from bounty hunters and traitor Sardaukar legions, but it had now come to full fruition. The traitor legions had been wiped out at the Battle for Salusa Secundus, all Imperial garrisons had been reinforced with loyalists, all now pled fealties to his rule and his brother was… somewhere safe. Certainly, out of the way.

The only bitter aftertaste to this sweet victory was this meeting with the damned Combine Honnete Ober Advancer Mercantiles. Despite his links and called-in debts, he still required transport and supplying of his troops, which CHOAM had gladly supplied – for a price. The vast cost had required him to take out a loan, but he was not concerned. As he had won, he had gained the greatest spoil of the battle, a prize worth the deaths of billions – the planet Arrakis, the solitary source of Melange and jewel of the Human Empire. A few years of spice harvesting would surely remove these leeches from him. Then, all the profits would lead directly into his coffers.

One of the representatives of CHOAM coughed slightly, shuffling paper files in the desk in front of him. "As you are no doubt aware, your Highness, we have called you here to discuss the matter of the transfer of cargo that you have yet to reimburse us." He cleared his throat again. "We apologise for bringing this matter up so close to your coronation – but we feel that it would be best to sort out these balances out as soon as possible."

Frederick smiled again. "You do not need to apologise. The business of the Empire is business, and I like to think that I can handle my expenses like any man." He waved a hand at them, indicating for them to continue.

A woman at the other end of the table twisted a gold ring with an aquamarine stone, and smiled in return. "Of course. We understand and agree with your sentiment." The ring was twisted again, as if in nervousness.

"Go ahead; tell me how much I owe you."

The first man looked at the papers in front of him, and began rattling off figures, detailing the transport of supplies from the hundreds, to the thousands, to the millions. All the while, a steady price tag was being calculated, relating to these figures. Mild sweat broke out on Frederick's brow, and his eye wandered across the room, lingering on opulent furniture and arts, hoping the deluge would finish soon. Eventually the river of figures trickled to a stream, then a drip, then ceased. "Final cost to CHOAM: Five hundred and seventy-eight million, nine hundred and sixty-six thousand, two hundred and thirty-one credits. Time required to pay said debt – three years."

Frederick grimaced slightly. The price was extortionate, but the CHOAM had a monopoly on space travel – he could not do anything else but agree. Anyway, thorough mining of spice would pay that debt well before the deadline. He smiled again. "Not to worry, ladies and gentlemen. With my new sources of income, I'll be able to reimburse you. You have my word as a Corrino." He stood up from the table. The representatives did not.

"Your Highness… another matter that needs to be brought to your attention."

Frederick stopped smiling, and a slight frown puckered his face, his goatee moving in synchronisation with his lips. "Yes?"

"As you have now taken over the Throne of the Empire, you inherit all resources your brother, Alasdair, once had. That is to say, stocks, planets, fronting companies…"

Frederick nodded. That was one thing he had been counting on.

"This also means you inherit your predecessor's income and budget." The second man looked up, and a slightly gloating look rimmed his glasses. "I take it that in your absence from the Empire, you were unaware how many resources your brother utilised in first; hunting you down, and secondly; fighting your armies."

Frederick eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Following CHOAM debt rulings…" the woman shuffled a few files in front of her, "…since your brother can no longer repay his debt as he is now dead, the debt is passed onto nearest relatives able to repay the debt." She looked up. "This is the case with all loans we supply to our customers, you must understand. And you now have an income viable with this demand.""

"I understand the basics of money-lending, economist, get to the point."

The first man spoke up. "By taking in your brother's debt, you now owe CHOAM…" He breathed in. "Three billion, six hundred million and seventy-five thousand credits. Because of the time your brother had this loan taken out; we expect it to be repaid within a year."

The room was silent. Frederick's face went from a pale pallor to a violent purple within several seconds. "How _dare-_"

"We must also remind you that failure in paying this debt will result in property seizure – property that we get to choose." The spectacle-wearing man nodded slowly towards Frederick.

_Surely he could not consider taking Arrakis from me!_ Frederick thought with a jolt of stark horror. _They already had a monopoly on space… Them having a monopoly on the spice would be a disaster…_ He shook his head angrily like a dog tormented by midges. "Do you know who I am?" He yelled at the trio.

"You are the Sublime Padishah Emperor Frederick the Fourth." The first man intoned. "Who currently owes us three billion, six hundred million and seventy-five thousand credits, to be repaid within a year."

"_I_ have ultimate power over humanity!" Frederick barked. "You have no _right_ to-"

"My dear Emperor, I am afraid we _do_ have a right to impose such a demand on you. You can check the figures themselves if you want. Trying to impose any levies on us would be blocked by the Major Houses and the Landsraad court. To quote a frank utterance from one of the ancient Earth rulers concerning the major factor in running a government: 'It's about the economy, stupid.'" The spectacled man smiled again. "Apologise for the crudeness of the quote, your Highness, but it is the truth. Try to make a giant reformation of the economy, and you will be blocked, and we will have no choice but to reveal your debt to the public."

"You wouldn't _dare-_"

"Oh yes we would." There was no ambiguity now; the cards were straight on the table. "And how long do you think you would remain in power when the people learned just how inefficient your book-keeping is? All loyal houses will leave you like rats from a ship. It'll be a disaster. The idea of the Empire would be…" He breathed in, savouring the moment. "…_destroyed_."

Frederick sat down again suddenly, the fight and arrogance drained from him in an instant. He opened his mouth. He closed his mouth.

"I'd like some time alone to think about this, thank you."

The trio stood up from the table. "Thank you for your time, Emperor. We expect to hear your plans to reimburse some time in the near future." All three nodded in harmony, then turned and left Frederick.

Frederick shook with a violent passion. Only the spice could repay off such a fantastic debt – no other resource could generate such wealth in a short amount of time. But he did not have the resources available to mine so much spice.

The Human Empire, established by his ancestors so many millennia ago, was on the brink of death.

Frederick Augustus Corrino, heir to the throne and ruler of humanity, laid his head on the mahogany table and wept.

* * *

A question jerked Frederick from then to now. "Pardon?"

"Your highness, do you have any declarations to make on the first day of your rule?" Polite laughter followed the comment, carefully managed and controlled.

Frederick nodded, then stood up slowly, with great reluctance, his purple clothing shifting silently. The noise of the court dropped to a silence as people realised he was about to speak. _Desperate times call for desperate measures._ He thought to himself, bitterly.

"Dear subjects," Frederick began, then hesitated. How to word this… "During the peak of the Years of Betrayal when my traitor-brother tried to rule the Empire with an iron fist, our economy was crippled beyond near all repair – a result of which being massive debts and unjust taxes to hard-working people." He cleared his throat, and then continued.

"Hence, I have decided to make a proclamation to reintroduce a healthy economy. As you are no doubt all aware, my victory meant that I gained possession of the Empire's holdings, which includes the planet Arrakis."

The court began to mutter silently, as it did whenever Arrakis was mentioned. Any obstruction in spice would be disastrous for the economy as a whole. Frederick waited for the muttering to cease.

"I am proposing a mandate to allow the Major Houses to establish spice-mining colonies on Arrakis." He gazed around the room again, stopping at the representatives from the Houses Atreides, Harkonnen and Ordos. "The spice obtained from these colonies will be sold on the CHOAM market with a tax rate of seventy-five percent paid to the Empire."

The representatives looked confused. Spice mining was only allowed for the Emperor under Imperial mandate. While it was possible for the Emperor to over-rule such mandates, this manoeuvre would only weaken the Emperor – and there was no real incentive for them to build these colonies. Such a high tax rate would mean that even with large mining colonies, the profit made would hardly be enough to maintain the colonies to begin with.

"The House which mines the most spice within a year…" Frederick took in a deep breath. "…will gain sole governorship of the planet Arrakis and a share of the tax revenues – permanently."

The amount of air breathed in shock sounded as if the chamber was being vented of gas. Voices babbled in the air as Frederick left to his solitary chambers. The House representatives glanced at each other, then quickly left the throne room. As the crowd milled around in confusion and slight fear, a fourth figure left, unseen by the masses.

The last person walked through the golden halls of the Palace of Tupile, then undid the hood which covered her face with a slight veil. She was Lady Elara Moray Trieu and, like the representatives of the three Houses, was trying to contact someone. A servant-girl cleaning one of the corridors noted a small hand-flicker from Elara, excused herself from her work, and exited through one of the massive doors in the walls. A security guard with purple-tinged armour noted this as well, and walked through the doors on the opposite side of the halls. Elara walked on through the halls, the sound of the throne room slowly dispersing.

Her footsteps took her to one of the open-air pagodas present in the grounds of the palace. She daintily moved her skirt as she sat down to prevent her from sitting on too much of the material, and then waited, watching one of the scented, amethyst-coloured candles.

"Hello, Fiona."

Fiona Margaret Seath calmed herself, reminding herself that it was not unusual for Lady Elara to have acknowledged her presence – she was better trained then she was. She stepped out from behind one of the pine pillars and sat opposite Elara, giving a light bow as she did so. The two waited for a minute, listening to the sounds of the birds-of-paradise and cicadas in the jungle foliage around them. Fiona took a fragrant blossom in her hand and smelled it.

The security guard stepped in, pistol drawn, pointing it at both women. "This area is not authorised for unauthorised personnel. Please leave."

Elara smiled silently. "Of course, we apologise for any intrusion." Her hands flicked briefly, as if brushing dust from her skirt. The guard paused, holstered the pistol, then took off the helmet.

"Apologies, Lady Elara. I was following protocol-"

Elara stopped the older woman with a raised hand. "Regan, you need not worry. Your cautious nature is understandable, and commendable. Fiona here-" her hand waved towards the shabbily clothed younger woman, "-would do well to acknowledge such tactics." Her gaze pinned Fiona to her seat. "What would have happened if I were a Face Dancer, m'dear? You came out without any signalling – you could've compromised our positions here."

Fiona hung her head. "Apologies, Lady Elara."

"To the heart of the matter. Our new Emperor has made a disturbing proclamation." Elara told the other two what precisely had happened. "Our next question should be 'why has Frederick done this?'"

"'A process cannot be understood by stopping it. Understanding must move with the flow of the process, must join it and flow with it.'" Quoted Regan, looking around at the garden suspiciously.

"Well remembered, Regan, the First Law of Mentat – word for word." Elara cocked her head to one side. "We cannot put forth any strategies to prevent this measure – we'd fall under suspicion, especially from the three Houses."

"You think the Houses will accept this offer?"

Elara sneered at Regan. "Of course they will. Despite all their cunning, intelligence, good graces and attitudes, there is one thing that they have in common, the desire for wealth. Arrakis will grant them not just wealth, but _wealth_." She emphasised the word strongly. "No other resource has quite the same value as Melange, as we three should know. So, we know the Houses will take this offer up. No doubt warfare will break out among them, especially the three main Houses. But that has not answered my question. Why?"

Fiona raised her hand slightly, capturing the attention of the older women. "Before Frederick entered the throne room, he had a meeting with representatives from CHOAM. They were discussing debts and loans."

Regan's mouth curled in distaste at mention of the conglomerate, the wrinkles in her face appearing as if by magic, making her seem as old as she actually was. "No doubt that they were discussing the money Frederick owes them for transport of his troops." Elara concluded. "But with the mining outposts he has now, he should be easily able to pay off his transport debt. Why would he sacrifice the desert planet?"

"Logically…" Fiona said slowly, "Frederick must owe more than we suspect. This manoeuvre would grant the winning house great wealth – 'tis true, but the high taxation up to that point, would grant the Emperor extortionate wealth."

"The Fremen will not like this." Regan muttered.

"Well, the Fremen are not here just now. We must stay with the here and with the now." Elara looked back at Fiona. "What exactly did you hear at that meeting?"

"The door was heavily guarded by Sardaukar troopers – I could not woolgather as well as I normally could have. But I did manage to hear that Frederick has to pay off his debt within a year. Then the representatives of CHOAM left. Then…" Fiona hesitated.

"Out with it, girl." Regan snapped.

"I heard the Emperor crying." She finished quietly. The other two women looked at each other with unreadable expressions.

"CHOAM doesn't make people pay of major loans in only a year – they want the money back, they'd give the Emperor breathing room." Elara muttered. "He could not have had debts beforehand – that would have required debt during the Years of Treason – more than the standard debt-reimbursement time of three years."

"Perhaps he inherited the debt?" Fiona volunteered.

Regan and Elara looked at the red-haired women, who gazed back in reluctant stubbornness. Then Elara began to nod.

"Yes, yes… Alasdair was spending more than he was gaining in the last few years of the war, especially after the defeat of Salusa Secundus – little good that did him, though." Elara closed her eyes and thought for a second, then. "That would seem the most logical conclusion." Her eyes snapped open. "Sister Regan – inform our spies at CHOAM to get information concerning Frederick's debt. Sister Fiona, you are to remain here and spy on Frederick, see if he gives away any information. I shall report to our superiors on this disturbing development."

The two women bowed, turned and left the pagoda, leaving Elara alone in the garden. She listened to the birds and frogs for a second, removed a sheet of paper she had folded in her pocket, removed a pen from the same pocket, and began to write.

Dear Reverend Mother Marius Alethea Blasco: - she wrote.

The situation on Arrakis is critical. I have collected the information that you requested and strongly urge you to make a decision soon on this matter.

Frederick's political gamble has proved dangerous. Desperate for spice, he has challenged the three great Houses to compete for mining rights. The possession and Governorship of Arrakis has been offered as incentive for the House that delivers the most spice.

We have considerable self-interest in this war. Arrakis is the only known source of the spice, and it cannot be manufactured. We must make certain that whichever of the competing Houses prevails, our supply to the Gesserit remains continuous. We cannot afford to make enemies now.

I hope this report is useful to you. Please let me know if there is additional information that you require.

Your Servant, Lady Elara Moray Trieu

She signed the letter with a flowing, archaic signature, then folded the paper again, sealing it with wax from one of the candles, and stamping the wax with the ring she had on her finger, the indentations making a complicated but intriguing pattern. She unfolded up out of the chair, and left the garden, possibilities running 'round her mind.

* * *

The world of Caladan was a most wondrous and beautiful place. The lush, green continents dwarfed islands and smaller landmasses. The distance from the yellow sun made a most warm and fertile planet – and this was where Caladan received most of its wealth. Every day, large frigates transported grain and foodstuffs to other worlds. A prosperous scientific community meant that medical supplies were also sold from the planet. As would be expected, such a world gave birth to a fertile, patriotic, passionate and happy people who loved peace.

The Duke of the Atreides House looked over the setting sun from his private balcony at Caladan castle, and sighed. "This development disturbs me, Cyril." He turned to the man he was addressing. The Mentat Cyril was of Aryan complexion, blue eyes, blonde hair and pale skin, contrasting with the Duke's dark skin, hair and eyes. Both of them had been friends and colleagues since teenage years, and both of them trusted the other immeasurably.

Cyril nodded slightly. "Yes, m'Duke. I can see why." His eyes wandered over the landscape, his mind ever calculating and predicting – the curse of a Mentat, he thought bitterly. "The Emperor's declaration is certainly fraught with many traps and diplomatic incidents."

The Duke nodded in agreement. "Caladan has become prosperous by being honest and straight-forward. I want you to give me what you know in that manner, Cyril."

The Mentat sighed, then opened his mouth. "Since the Emperor's declaration, we have sent representatives to all of the Main Houses. Some of the main Houses are not planning to go to Arrakis – they will only waste resources as they have not the money to subsidise mining outposts. There are three Houses which can, however. Those are us, House Ordos and…" Cyril hesitated, and then brushed his hair from his face distractedly. "…House Harkonnen."

"I see…" The Duke replied, his voice distant.

"Our spies have detected the mobilisation of forces from both Ordos and Harkonnen – both of them have begun loading up frigates with men and equipment. Our attempts at diplomacy and debate have been rejected or ignored. Sire…" Cyril paused. "…the Emperor has forced us to act. If we do not mobilise our forces soon, we will have lost the initiative to ever mine enough spice to win this 'contest', and either Ordos or Harkonnen will win. And if they win, we will be destroyed, despite our popularity at Landsraad. Either House will be able to summon forces capable of completely conquering Caladan." He handed over a file to the Duke. "I have already started preparing our own forces – I apologise, m'Lord, for doing this without your permission…" he interjected, seeing the Duke open his mouth, "…but we must act now, or damn ourselves."

The Duke sighed wearily. "I was hoping that I would never take House Atreides to war again, that we would be able to live our lives out peacefully. After all, what else would we like to gain? We already have paradise with this little blue planet. It may not be much…" he stopped. "But it's ours."

"But forces beyond our control are forcing us to take action. M'Lord, I beg of you-" Cyril said passionately, but was stopped by the Duke's upraised hand.

"Just because I want peace doesn't mean I do not know how to act in the face of war." He closed his eyes wearily against the sun. "Begin the appropriate measures to attract people to our armed forces, and begin dealings with CHOAM to move forces to Arrakis."

Cyril nodded briefly, stood up, and left the Duke on his own. The Duke stared at the sunset again.

"Damn you, Frederick…"

* * *

The ice-world that was home to the Ordos was considered so barren it was not even given a name by the original planetologists of the early Empire. Nevertheless, it was inhabited by humans, living deep under the permafrost and glaciers. Under all that ice and snow lived some of the most cunning and dangerous minds of any House in the Empire. Little was known about the Ordos in public, and little more was known by the Emperor, CHOAM, the Bene Gesserit or Bene Tlielaxu. It was rumoured that they were a conglomeration of Minor Houses who had allied a long time ago to combine their resources to become a powerful house. They grew so powerful, that they were eventually stripped of their assets by the Emperor of the time, and banished to the ice-world. But they were to smart to be cowed by such brutal action.

Using cunning, two-faced trading and broking, piracy and outright terrorism, House Ordos managed to get themselves back on top, where they managed to bloat their multiple coffers full of credits – it was rumoured that they were the richest House ever. Certainly it would seem unlikely for any people to live on that hell-world without some type of skill, and the Ordos evidently had it.

In the subterranean city of Elaphe, the parliament of Ordos's leaders was heatedly debating the recent development. The doors opened to reveal the Mentat Ammon, his lithe figure heavily covered in green robes – the unofficial emblem of Ordos's personnel. The debate died down as each politician acknowledged the presence of the Mentat. His thin, red-stained lips twisted in a thin smile, and he flicked his loosely tied-back hair off of his shoulders.

"Well, Ammon? What do your Mentat abilities suggest about this declaration?" A portly man called out from his steel chair. Ammon gazed at him lazily, his brown eyes unblinking. Ammon was Ordos personified; cunning, duplicitous and brilliant. His attitude constantly reminded the people who dealt with him of the viper that entwined the world that was the sigil of the Ordos.

"The Emperor would not have made such a declaration lightly. This indicates, in conjunction with the high tax he has proposed on the mined spice, that our Sublime Padishah Emperor has…" his mouth twitched again. "…an extreme fiscal deficit." He waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, that is of no purpose to us. The Emperor has no seat here – hence, he is of no importance. What he is proposing, however, is a different story."

"What are the other Houses doing. What do our spies report?" A bald woman called from the far end of the table.

"They report that the other two great Houses are making the general preparations Houses make before transporting massive amounts of personnel to another world. Atreides and Harkonnen are taking the bait lured in front of them." Ammon reported, then licked his lips quickly.

"'Bait'? Do you suspect something, Ammon?" Another politician asked.

"As I said before, such a declaration is not something one makes off-hand. Despite his desperation for extra money, the Emperor would not give up Dune quite so easily as _that_." Ammon said, snapping his fingers with a loud report. "I suspect many things… but they are all suspicions, nothing genuine." He looked back at the parliament. "I suggest we mobilise our troops to take this opportunity with both hands."

"But what if the Emperor is planning something duplicitous?" The fat man asked.

Ammon smirked. "Our forces will be sufficient to protect us from any force, be it Atreides, Harkonnen or even Sardaukar. Besides… we are also shipping our more… exotic weaponry."

There were a few mutters and side-long glances at that declaration. "Do not worry, sirs and ladies," Ammon oozed assuredly, "the Convention does not ban the usage of our prototypes, despite their… resemblance. I can assure you, what we are doing is perfectly legal."

"Besides, think of what we would gain!" He hissed, lowering his voice to a near whisper. "Melange… the greatest source of wealth anywhere… and we would have sole access to it. We could charge any price, enforce our rule on Dune, prevent any attempts at subterfuge… We have the money to pay for this. We have the power to do this."

"I am still nervous about this…" Another woman began.

"If we do not take the initiative, the other Houses will. Then what? Sit back in these chairs while our enemies become the most powerful force in the Empire, second only to the Emperor himself?" Ammon sneered at the conclave. "God helps those who help themselves. Right now, we have the chance to help ourselves immeasurably. Decide against it, and be damned."

The ensuing vote took less then five minutes – all had voted to mobilise forces to Dune. Ammon smiled, and took pleasure in thinking how pleased the parliament would be in his speed in arranging the forces, having neglected to inform them that he had already started to prepare the forces. Sometimes, he even managed to amaze himself.

* * *

Geidi Prime was a planet in orbit around an old, red star, which, when combined with the never-ending lights from the planet's surface, gave the planet the appearance of a diseased scab, leaking blood. It was home to the largest industrialised planet in the entire Empire, the main producer of weapons and battleships. It was also home to the rightfully dreaded House Harkonnen.

No other House had benefited from reckless violence than House Harkonnen. When they confronted tribes from settled worlds who disagreed with their methods, their troop corps wiped them out. When pirates struck weapon freighters, House Harkonnen retorted by bombing their home planet with nuclear weapons, avoiding punishment by pointing out that the Convention did not cover humans outwith Imperial control.

No other House was quite as vile and dangerous as House Harkonnen, and House Harkonnen knew it.

Right now, Baron Harkonnen was staring out at the giant steel mills that ringed Harko city. The door behind him chimed, and opened.

Mentat Radnor stood in the doorframe, his hunched and bald form seeming preposterously small in comparison to the military might that was House Harkonnen. His eyes however… a clear indicator of a madman. Their watery, blue-green bloodshot gaze locked on the Baron, and he smiled the smile of a man willing to kill to get where he wanted. _As is indeed the case,_ Baron Harkonnen reminded himself,_ I do remember what happened to Marko_. He smiled in turn, and made sure there was a table between him and Radnor.

"Well?"

Radnor's head jerked at the question, as if he had been asleep all this time, and he linked his long-nailed fingers together. "Well what, sweet Baron?" The melodious and sweet-sounding voice juxtaposed by the sight of the hunched, deformed and mad old man speaking with it.

"What is this going about the Emperor throwing Arrakis to the wolves?"

Radnor nodded his head slowly, and his grin widened, the too-large lips stretching rubber-like around his mouth. "The Emperor has indeed declared that Arrakis will be given to whomever provides him with the most spice."

"And…?"

"Dear Baron, is it possible that even you do not see where this leads us to?"

The Baron's eyes thinned. "Do not think me a fool, Radnor."

"God forbid the thought, gracious Baron."

"I want _your_ opinion on this matter, not on the qualities of my character."

"But of course, dear Baron."

The Baron's gaze went back to the window, looking at the factories. "So tell me."

"This declaration will entice the greatest Houses to Arrakis, possible the lesser Houses too, but primarily…" Radnor extended one of his long fingers "…House Ordos and… Atreides…"

Baron Harkonnen breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth as his fists tightened open hearing that damned name. He looked back at the mad Mentat. "You are sure of this?"

Radnor smiled again. "Sweet Baron, I am a Mentat, not someone who makes predictions lightly." His eyes flickered slightly, looked unfocused for a second, then returned to their cunning and rodent-like hue. "Ordos and Atreides forces will be present on the planet."

"How efficient are our munitions factories?"

Radnor nodded his head in approval. "We are already making the required explosives, rifles and tanks necessary for a planetary invasion. Our scientists have even been developing new weapons to use against our oppressors." Radnor leaned forward, and the Baron lent back instinctively. "This is the best opportunity we will ever get at destroying both of these Houses."

"What about the governorship of Arrakis?"

"Oh, that…" Radnor muttered, as if gaining the largest income flow was of no consequence. "If we eliminated our foes, we would have enough time to give the Emperor his required spice." He smiled that unsettling, maddening smile again. "Either way, we shall win."

The Baron Harkonnen pursed his lips. "Frankly, I hate that damned planet. I honestly think the universe would be better off if it had never existed – but if it is bringing our greatest foes into our cannon sights…" He smiled, matching Radnor's own grotesque appearance, "…so be it. Prepare our armies."

"My dear, dear Baron, I'd knew you would make the right decision." The wizened head nodded and jerked as the Mentat left the room. "I shall be making the appropriate actions as soon as possible…" The door closed, shutting off the hypnotic voice.

Baron Harkonnen sat back in a chair, and let out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding in.

So it began. The greatest battle for Arrakis was started. On one side – the noble Atreides. On another – the unscrupulous Ordos. On the last – the brutish Harkonnen. While above all three, the vultures that were the Bene Gesserit, CHOAM and the Imperial Sardaukar waited. Waited…


End file.
